Sparkling Pain

My Mother is a very wise woman.  And it took me a long time to realize that the reason she is so very wise is because she is a survivor.  The beautiful thing about pain is that it gives you a strength the sheltered never know and often are instead distracted by blinding judgment to view much of anything with clarity.  But Mommy so often knows best.  And through everything, she has continually told me, don't be sad, get mad, it's healthier. 

As most people, most loving, nurturing people anyway, getting angry feels like the 'wrong' thing to do.  It always feels more loving to place the hurt on my own self in a defeatist what a fool am I sort of way than projecting the pain on those who had caused it.  And I realized something today for the first time.

There are moments in the Bible when Jesus has righteous anger.  I don't recall any times when Jesus has the self pitying what was I thinking sadness.  Hmm.  Maybe there was something there.  Told you mother was a clever one.

And I thought about how I felt today.  Betrayed and deceived and manipulated and cast aside.  Again, no less.  It would be hillarious if it were someone else's life but since it's my own, knowing that not one but two men have walked away from their love for me with tears in their eyes leaves much to be desired.  Am I so terribly frightful a lover?  Truly it had a dizzying effect the way a man could so quickly jump from drunken intoxication to calm indifference.  Well done, my noble prince, I almost believed you.

But things are never as they appear to be.  Not even when it seems so divinely obvious.

Love is not all or nothing, it is not this or that, yes or no.  It is far more generous and all encompassing than that.  It offers itself up to the most unsuspecting candidates and has the ability to change.  Change.  Not one but two and sometimes three, so that the course for everyone has been strengthened by such love and such loss.  Loss, that was becoming all too familiar.  Perversely there was comfort in the familiar and this pain, too, felt safe.  Isolated again, one with the One and free from the distractions of passion and possibility.  Who wants the dream fulfilled when I have the freedom to keep dreaming?  Maybe my change will continue changing, as will the dream and the players.  Maybe the dream is still in the process of forming and maybe the prince from earlier chapters will find his way across the mountains to my doorstep.

Just not today.  And today is what I have.  'Tis my only now, so I embrace it with open arms.

I reveled over the quickness I used to shift from hope shattering sadness to self righteous anger to a calm enduring trust and all in a matter of hours.  Truly this had once taken weeks, months, years to accomplish!  And I had already lovingly poured over prayer cards for the new fallen prince and thought of a gift to anonymously leave in his box.  Loving our enemies is like heaping hot coals on their heads.  And whether you feel like being nice or being vile, that image will surely bring a smile to your face.  What better way to get back at those who willingly, selfishly, self preservingly take you out of consideration than to shower them with the consistent affection they so cowardly tossed aside?

Stinging.  That will be the effect on such a heart for their eyes fail to hide the loving desire they desperately are trying to bury inside.  And that warrants empathy, not judgement.  We all long for affection, desirability, the chance to experience life fully alive, senses heightened, our paths endlessly open.  And for some, our roads mean we don't get our hearts desire, at least not this present moment.  And that's ok.  That's right.  That's what's to be in this now.  Just as our attempts to distance ourselves are muddled when Providence aligns paths with perfection and you stumble upon the loving eyes you longed to glance into over lattes and smiles of gratitude.  Those flukes, those accidents are not ordinary!  They are real and vital and vibrantly essential to the path you've chosen to choose.  One hopes that such miracles won't be pushed to the recesses of the mind to make decisions easier, but the mind of man plans his way while the Lord directs his steps.  That's the beauty in the chance encounters: we plan in our mind how something will go but surprises ensue.  And clearly the Big G has the fairytale already written, He simply waits for us to make or miss our cues on time.

Oh, there they went.  Ah, here they are.  And ooh, close but still, a miss.

So I accepted defeat in trying to turn something beautiful into something wretched just to ease my own loss to turn my mourning into sexy rage.  No one wants a mopey Molly, but they certainly are drawn to a fiesty frisky minx.  And that reminded me of how this all began in the first place.

It happened for a purpose.  And that gave me thanks more than they'd ever know.  But in prayer, I knew He'd guide, give favor to, direct, comfort, heal and reassure the heart of the one I most longed to restore.  If not to mine, then to another, so long as it was craddled with the same tender care that these hands waited with anticipation to give.

If not this heart, another.  If not your heart, then his.  If not her heart, then mine.  Just in case the oxygen runs out.  One never knows.  The chance encounters have a delightful way of timing themselves.....just.....right......

Now.

And on the morrow and tomorrow and once more.  Don't get too comfortable.  The rattling of cages has only just begun and sooner than expected the snowball will crash and surprise with sparkling clarity.

The seasons will shift, your mind may change, but your heart.....your heart, evermore, remains intertwined in mine.

And that, my darling, is unchangeable.

Surprise Me

I thought about Abraham today. One thing I think is really beautiful about the story of him and Isaac is that in the end, after years of suffering, the tests, the trials, the failures, the fears, he ended up getting his hearts greatest desire and getting to keep it. I thought, too, about Solomon and how he called for a sword to settle a debate between two women.  Just cut the kid in half, one half for each.
 (Aren't we always trying to halve ourselves?) 
The real mother, like Abraham, was willing to sacrifice her greatest desire out of a pure love, the kind often forgotten.  And again, her willingness to make such a sacrifice was what earned her the desire of her heart.  She didn't in fact actually lose what she wanted, she got to have it.  What a miracle that always is.

I think sometimes He wants to test the color of our heart, the truth in it, when the stakes are heightened and everything is on the line. What would you do if backed in a corner, the thing you wanted most dangling in front of you and with such sudden swiftness the threat of your desires' demise? You've no idea what you'd do until you're in the situation. Time has a tricky way of circling back to the same sorts of tests.  And when you find yourself in the same frozen moment nothing surprises more than the realization that you would happily release your hearts desire and with smiling tears of thankfulness, no less.

Nothing no longer surprises.  Not even you.  Or the heart that replaces your former waxen one.

Something happened to me recently and I glimpsed a dream I forgot I once held dear.  I allowed the cobwebs of past heartaches to darken the light once used to illuminate my path.  And slowly, ever so subtly, I had stopped trying to look at all.  So when that forgotten dream came crashing face to face with me the overwhelming ecstasy was dizzying.  And true to form, as the pattern goes, before attaining such treasure, more tests.  More and more and more to the point of paranoid certainty that even ascertainment left room for conviction that surely that wouldn't be the end of it.  Not with cynicism, but in understanding the practice of trials.  In enduring the painful growth occurring continually I relished over the calm patience I now possessed and that it only recently enveloped me as a result of the Great Crash Survival.  How could I not be thankful for such sweet pain?  It had brought me to the peaceful acceptance that washed away my dashed hopes and knowing now that this too could easily end in such a similar file was something I was happy to accept. 

Happy to accept the greatest loss of all?!

 YES.

What beautiful sort of fruit would blossom from such a pruning?  Truly the sort that would entice only the rarest and worthiest admirers.  If one lost the clarity of his vision, another would gain eyes to see and still another and another.  Or not.  But if no one delights in the fruit, it certainly doesn't diminish its beauty.  There are always the eyes of the One who delights in all.  And that is evermore, enough.

Your err is my delight

"It's better to make a mistake with the full force of your being than to timidly avoid mistakes with a trembling spirit."

I once had a music director, an intimidating frightful sort of man, who told us all that if we were going to make a mistake to do it loudly.  I don't think anyone likes their errors drawing attention, let alone prideful vocalists who constantly try and outshine one another.  But you had to love the validity in his statement: how would he catch our musical mistakes if he didn't hear them?  Being one to follow an order (well, an order I view as valid, anyway) there was one rehearsal where I found myself so caught up in the spirit of the piece I failed to enter when the music score called and instead erradicated some rests and wrote myself my own solo.  I will never forget the look on the director's face as he slowly raised one eyebrow and began to purse his tight, assuming mouth.  "Well," I chimed right in, "You did say to make our mistakes loud!"  Here's a confession: very few things bring me more joy than bringing a smile to a stubborn man's lips, especially when they are mustering all their will power to stop the smile from revealing itself.  It's like winning some ongoing game against the contempt men use to mask their affection and breaking through that facade gives me an air of feminine delight.  Aha, I muse.  I win!  And then again, nothing about me has ever been quiet and that certainly includes my singing.  Once during a play rehearsal in college our director informed the other members of the cast they all needed to work on specificity, clarity, resonance, in short, being louder.  "Except for Teresa," the director confirmed.  "You need to pull back.  You're shouting."  Take it down a notch, story of my life.  Somewhere the Big G was smiling over the extremist He'd created.

Making choices requires a great deal of faith.  I knew a man, the most indecisive one I'd ever stumbled upon who used to make me dizzy with how quickly he could change his mind.  At one point, I remember looking at him with skeptical eyes and wondering if he was secretly playing a trick on me because no one could actually be that unsure of themselves.  Surely we all know deep down in the core of our gut what it is we truly desire, what we'd inconvenience ourselves for, what was the only choice worth making.  But this guy?  This guy was the most easily influenced humanoid ever to walk the streets of Hawthorne.  His faltering inevitably strengthened my resolve because I, unlike the fearful cowards, knew what I wanted.  And why wouldn't I?  To love is such a simplistic notion it's a wonder anyone can complicate it's pure beauty.

But I always underestimate the sway we have over one another.  "Will you use your whiles for good or evil?" someone once asked me.  We smiled slyly at one another and then laughed.  And remembering all that could be if these mountains did in fact move as I believed they would, the answer was too obvious to utter.

Sweet Oxygen

Once upon a time, there was a girl who loved music more than anything else in her entire world.  Her Mother must have played Bach and Mozart for her when she was still cooking in the oven because there was something about violins and pianos that had an affinity to place joy filled tears in her eyes.  She simply drank in music.  It was what she always longed to share with the friends and strangers she encountered and the men she fell for touched her heart through songs they inspired in one another.  And more than any other past time, playing music alone brought a sense of satisfaction to her sensitive heart.

One day, during a time when she'd forgotten what her soul had been thirsting for, she was given a gift.  Someone had thought it fit to leave two tickets on her doorstep, tickets to a time capsule of music serenity.  She had been many times in her life, walking through the grand doors under the sparkling chandeliers, the hallways brimming with starved souls all basking in the greatness surrounding them.  More than transcendence, it was a merging of hopes with possibilities; her last cross over the threshold was with a hopeful stranger and the conductor choked over his loving words when describing one of the final pieces.  Seeing someone overcome by the sheer beauty of what they're creating is an awe inspiring experience.  It lasts a mere vapor of time and yet the misty smiling eyes haunt your memory for years in the future.

Somehow, in spite of all the girl's trials, she was going to step over that threshold once again and hand in hand with her newest, most dear friend.  Overcome with smiles, the girl bounced through her days, imagining the satin dress she would wear, the stolen sideways glances that would fill the night and the possibility of stars that would follow her that eve and every eve thereafter.  Sheer fairytale, some mused.  But she just smiled believing each fantasy was as possible as anyone's reality.

As the week approached, something, ever so slightly, shifted in the girl.  Her desire, her anticipation gave way to an even greater passion; an urge to give.  You see, the girl, as she passed many strangers each day, passed by someone she'd never seen before, a woman.  The girl didn't know the woman but she saw that something in the woman had fallen asleep and as she walked through her days there was a glaze over her  lackluster eyes that mirrored her discontent for the life that chose her.  Her dissatisfaction was subtle, yet for whatever reason, the girl was sensitive to it.  And sensing the woman held a need far greater than the girl's, she approached the woman, trepidation and all and placed the gift in the woman's open hand. 

To the girl's surprise, the woman didn't say a word but simply met the girl's glance and continued walking away.  The girl began to cry.  But with tears she'd never felt before.  In spite of her own loss, something new had formed in her and she tasted what it was to love someone who would never return her love.  Love was such a needy, possessive beast, wanting it's own desires, craving it's own reaffirmation.  To love without any reciprocity was both overwhelming and fully satisfying.  There was something lasting  in such selflessness.  This is the stuff my fairytale is made of, the girl thought.

And one day, just as the gift itself fell at the girls feet in a moment of surprising generosity, there would come a day when the secret desires of her heart would return to her wrapped in a tiny box, kept safely tucked away in the love of an unknown dear heart.

And believing such fairy tales created the melody of delicious uncertainty that the girl danced to and delighted in.  Someone, somewhere would see all the girl had seen and want to hear all the songs she was waiting to sing.

Alice, you may have your looking glass back

She woke up and was surprised to see she was still in Wonderland. The oxygen was just as sweet and she still couldn't stop smiling. She had really followed the White Rabbit and even though he seemed to have disappeared, it didn't matter. She had remembered she was seen. And someone sooner or later would be following the same White Rabbit, breathing the same sweet oxygen. For now she had many books to read, books to write, music to be learned, a Wonderland to explore. Answering the smoking caterpillar would take longer than a mere week of bliss. Who.... are.... you? And where does the chapter fit in this story? She didn't know. And she was satisfied with her uncertainty. There was always love to give, always gifts to receive.  She already looked with anticipation at the bright lights around her and marvelled over which way to go first. Those lucky enough to see all that smiles before them are worth acting crazy for. Stay busy or fall right in. And take your time, the water's fine. And it isn't going anywhere. She was, but she always would be. Catch me, she smiled. You know you can.

Webs of Illusion

"You have an astonishing capacity to fool yourself.  Remember that when you're tempted to run off and pursue your illusions."


I woke up first thing this morning, stumbled into the bathroom still sobering up from my deep sleep and lifted the toilet seat cover to reveal a giant spider. He moved so quickly, equally as frightened as I was at the unveiling of his hideout and fell into the toilet bowl. I quickly flushed it and put the cover back down. Somehow the fear those little terrors used to instill in me has waned and I marvelled over how that even happened.

It is always most interesting when the books I stumble upon pose theories I've been questioning myself. I recently confided to someone that I've spent this entire year not knowing what was real and what was not. I thought it stopped there, that merely being able to somehow deduce what was actually true and what was illusion could help decipher the code of confusing occurrences and bring some semblance of understanding to the tornado that has been this year.

But then I had a thought.

What if what seems to be real is in fact not? And the things I thought were all in my head were what was actually the truth? Just because something is real doesn't mean people will accept it as their reality. "What if I just box this up and put it over here, never to be looked at again" a friend told me of a recent longing he'd been having. And I had to wonder, ignoring our heart, pretending the feelings we have are mistaken doesn't make them ingenuine. It merely makes us unreal. Fear. Reason. Self doubt. Insecurity. These keep us from stepping out of our little box of familiarity and safety. But what greatness was ever achieved in such predictable curcumstances?

Certainly nothing I hoped my life would reflect.

I always hoped somehow that someone would come to my show and fall madly in love with me because of my brilliant performance.  It didn't even matter who, it was just the thought that somehow the passion I brought to the role would instill passion in another.  A hopelessly romantic notion yet very much a genuine desire in my heart. But what an illusion, I reminded myself.
And somehow such illusions stepped out of their set boxes and took on the shape of reality, for now at least. Whether that reality was to endure the shifts of time was yet to be determined. But at present, I smiled with the secret that someone had in fact seen me, in a way I only dreamed was possible.

The good thing about enduring so much grief is that you are given the gift of revelation in discovering that you truly are capable of handling anything. If you get what you want, if you can't have what you want, if it's a Prince or merely another illusion, as callous as it sounds, it really doesn't matter. Finally, for the first time, you're enough. You can eat your brunch alone, enjoying your book and the hum of people around you and not feel a longing for someone or something else. You've learned that whatever, whomever, however it comes, something is happening. And how freeing to finally see that this something doesn't need your assistance, the push and pull of your conniving will. It will be or it won't. And it satisfies to know what's meant to be, 'twill be, just as 'twas always written.

A buried flame

There are some men that were put on this earth to make you cry and there are others who will always make you blush with gratitude.  One of my dearest gentleman friends told me recently, "If he's a man that's attracted to women he's going to look at you and be attracted."  There are those compliments that lift your spirits for that day and then there are those that seem to fill a tiny crack in your heart.

  He also insightfully diagnosed a change in me from when we first met years ago.  "I'll tell you what it is," he said.  "You smile less.  When I first met you your smiles seemed to be a coping mechanism for you and I worried about you.  Now when you smile, it is clear it comes from real joy."  And I thought of my Mother.

Change is such a subtle beast.  It sneaks its' way into your bed and gradually picks away at the layers of you until you look in the mirror one day and realize whole portions of you are missing.  It's not simply a good or a bad thing, it's merely surprising.  You're not even sure when it happened or how it happened or if it's even really gone.  It takes the objective eyes of strangers to see what your own reflection is too hesitant to notice.  The lady in the looking glass sees the happenings of yesteryear much like your Mother and the friends who knew you when it wasn't very cool to.  But she, like her jaded twin, cannot unblur the lines that have faded and strains to focus her eyes on the flashing lights before her.

And so, delighting in this reverie, she manages to step through the glass and much to her amusement, nothing shatters.  A helpmate rather than a hindrance, her past houses her transition.  Her home, warm with release, urges her forward and she can now be seen for the first time.  The crowds turn their heads and she smiles with contentment.

"Unless you have a secret, in which case, that would be really fun."

"Its such a lie that we should all do what's in our hearts. If we all did what was in our hearts the world would grind to a hault."

Why so often are the things we say so in contrast to the things we do? Do we not believe our hollow words, do we want to believe them or merely think we should say them? Is what we do the truth or is what we say the truth and the actions are lies?

I discovered recently why I abhor inconsistency in others so much: it is a secret character flaw in myself. I always thought I was someone who said what they meant, did what they say and didn't have the energy of my two faced counterparts. There's was the struggle for a semblance of truth, a doubleminded hodge podge of this way or that, hesitancy, doubting each choice and step. I go where I want, I do what I desire.

One day I realized the infection of doublemindedness was a plague I seemed to stumble upon. Whether or not I was the culprit or a subject of circumstance was yet to be determined . But I did something I never thought I would and where guilt should rest, instead intrigue slept. Had I become what I'd despised? Or are we all sufferers from the two way thoughts? Had I become enlightened or was my enlightenment besmudged?

The verdict was still out.  But all judgement aside, I felt very much alive.  And what more can one search for?

Bartini

Veronica had an affinity for falling in love with every guy she dated.  "Except for the stalkers," she mused.  "They're undesirable.  But they sure do entertain."  Currently Veronica was forgetting yet another disappointment; a man deceptively sincere and cleverly indecisive.  She told me once over cocktails that they never slept together while they were dating. They let the intensity of their breakup and the desperation and fear of losing one another drive them to intimacy. "It lasted for a mere week, I believe," she recalled.  "He confessed being close to me made him fall in love with me and he said he couldn't be in love right now. 'We can't be physical you know what it does to me!' he nearly screamed at me one night."  We both laughed at the amusing insecurity of his affections. "And shortly after cutting himself off from my love," she continued, "he fled to the mountains.  Clearly there is some power behind my sex appeal I've yet to fully understand." To that we clinked our glasses in cheers and ordered another round.

"If a man uses you or stops loving you or finds another it hurts but you have the misfortune of swallowing the 'Love has Died' pill and can move on with your life. If a man, in contrast, becomes so intoxicated with you that it eradicates his decisions from months prior driving him to passions of amorous desire and longing but then runs from such intensity out of cowardice and fear you're left in a confused state of uncertainty."  I chimed in,  "You were right, he did still have feelings for you, being close did, in fact, mean something." Veronica nodded. "It was a manifestation of a love in each of us almost willing itself to endure. But it wasn't enough.  Men of inaction will always be men of inaction even when all they want in the world stands before them with adoring eyes."  And somehow even though she was the one jaded, we both felt sorry for him.

"That's why I'm off love," Veronica announced with coolness.  "Love is not the thing, love is not all I need, it is not always enough. I want action. I want a man who grows intoxicated by me and allows that to draw him toward me not push me away. I want a man who steps out of his fear to take my hand into the unknown.  I don't want poetry and promises and candlelit illusions. I want the rough, stubborn, determination of a love that will endure."  Our waiter, a short timid man with a blushing complexion interrupted us to ask how we were doing.  "We'll take another round," I said to shoo him away and Veronica continued.

"'What more can we try?' he once weakly asked me.  I wanted to sock him in the jaw. We can fight for what we know is true, I thought. I always have. He's the one who lost his heart."  She shook her head with dejected strength.  "I just wish I could tell him he foolishly overlooked the detail that he also lost me along the way.  Like her, I see him for all he never was.  He can tell the polar bears what a fool sits before them."
We paid our tab and I amusingly watched the waiter eye Veronica on our way out.

Veruca

Don't care how I want it now


I want love letters not texts
I want prayers not regrets
I want to be seen not fantasized
I want to be heard not patronized
I want you to kiss away the tears
I want truth and not your fears
I want love in purity
Not feigned disdainful hostility
I want hopes poured under stars
Not doubts huddled within your car
I want strength shattering double mindedness
Not cowardice manifested in distance
I want honest consistency
Not consistent hesitancy
I want you to paste this shattered glass
I want it all, I want what I ask

"I want you to finish that book. I'm sick of looking at it!"

My love for you is like facebook: invasive, impossible to ignore, imperceptibly intact after deactivation, the source of drama, misunderstandings and thoughtful prose and something I have easily severed all entanglements with.



Even though I have no desire to find love anytime soon (the crack in my heart needs time to mend, thank you) I'm overwhelmingly annoyed at my lack of datable prospects. Let me rephrase: There is absolutely no one to date. "I don't understand how men can go through that place you work at all day and no one ever asks you out!" my Grandmother declared this eve. "I know, right? I'm cute!" I add.  "That's right, you are. God must have you in one giant protective bubble."

 Sigh

Why does Grandma always have to be right?  I uncandidly whined that it would be so much easier to move forward from the past if I had someone new to do that with. "Teresa," she said," is God God?" Trick question, I momentarily mused. "Can he do all things?"  Hmm, I know this one. "Yes."  End of discussion.

So, ok, this isn't a season of dating. That's fine, I get it. Hooray for my solitude and strengthening of character and building a harvest of maturity enriching my lifetime. Who wants to put on a dress and have drinks bought for you at an overcrowded bar anyway?
Distractions are keen, though. That's just it, they're mere distractions and if I want a minimalized life of genuineness and honest love then I can't have the mass produced garbage dump of socialization I witness around me.  I long for something greater.  I hear the longing in the voices of my friends who spend their free time with stranger after new stranger.  "I felt, still, something is missing," one girlfriend wrote me.  And as the saying goes, it seems I'm gonna have to sit tight and wait for whatever good is on it's way. Good ol' waitin'. You sure go well with a bottle of wine.


The great loves in my life while different in stature, class, culture and personality (mere trifles really) shared one amusing trait: an affinity for tea. (I use the term great love loosely interpreting it to mean a relationship that resulted in both physical and spiritual changes.  Great certainly leaves much to be desired in each of their cases.)
I drink coffee. I don't dislike tea, it is just never the thing I reach for to prepare for myself.  Coffee, wine, water, yes. Tea, only near Christmas. Yet with each of these men I consumed huge quantities of tea. It seems something I've no desire to make myself I'll happily consume when placed in front of me. Tell me, Dr. what does it mean?
Another link I've discovered is the love letter, while one in poetry and verse, another long passages of idolatry and still the latter, a childlike confession of his inability to fathom how he could be so comfortable and nervous around me simultaneously.


Truly attraction is a most curious sort of beast.


"There are strange friendships.  Two friends are almost ready to eat each other, they live like that all their lives, and yet they cannot part.  Parting is even impossible: the friend who waxes capricious and breaks it off will be the first to fall sick and die."-Dostoevsky

Oh, how I hate you. I really, truly do.

Hatred is like a drug.  It gives you a manic high producing energy you never knew you possessed.  And after the wave of fervent disdain passes you are left almost shaking from withdrawal.  Now what, you muse.  What should I do.  How can I make them hurt.  Suddenly you realize who you've become and it isn't pretty.  You repent and go back to the drawing board.

I've never been a runner.  Ever.  I've always been what the dancing world lovingly refers to as a "chesty" girl.  Needing to don two or three sports bras to be able to jog pain free has always deterred me from wanting to take up the northwest popularity that is jogging.  I'm not a runner, I decided.  I'm just not.  Of course, it's easy not to be something if you've never tried it.  I am not a guitar player either, but something tells me if I bought a guitar and signed up for lessons I could become, in at least some sense, a guitar player.  So, in an effort to make up for the loss of my gym membership and to try and find a way to make some use of the anger fermenting inside of me I started jogging.  Walking mostly, with intermittent spurts of jogging.  This is a pattern I've taken on in years past, a sort of long walk with moments of increased heart rate.  Very casual, very me.  Only something has shifted inside of me and I'm finding that I want to run more than I want to walk.  Something about the funeral that recently occurred in my heart has given me a drive to push my body in a way I never thought possible.  Like I said, I'm not a runner.  And here I am looking forward to getting off work and going home to go for a run.  Humor, indeed.

I have also managed to cut sugar out of my diet, cold turkey.  For a gal who ate an average of three pastries a day at Starbucks this was no small feat.  I've spent my entire life indulging an addiction to sugar.  Much like my unhealthy affinity for Arabic men and designer dresses, it needed to be waned, slowly for some, excessively extreme for me.  I don't do things halfway, I'm an all or nothing kind of girl.  If we're friends I'll pick you up at the airport at four in the morning.  If we're not friends, I won't even comment on your facebook wall.  It's that simple.  So I, for whatever reason, being fed up I suppose, decided sugar was not an option and that was that.  I remembered the story my parents used to tell me of how they got me to stop using my bottle when I was a little girl.  "Princesses don't use bottles," I was told.  So I took the bottle out of my mouth right then and there and threw it in the trash can, never to be looked at again.  No one could ever accuse me of being a woman of inaction.

See, the upside of anger is that it drives you, it motivates you to extremes you'd otherwise be too cautious to venture out and try.  I delight in how nervous people get over the word hate.  They fear the connotations of admitting such strong disdain for someone and always justify their animosity with the lighthearted "Oh, I don't hate them, I just don't really like them."  Oh dear heart, haven't you heard of a little book called the dictionary?  And I quote: "Hate: to dislike intensely or passionately; feel extreme aversion for or extreme hostility toward; detest."  You do hate them.  You just feel like you're bad for hating them.  You're not bad, you're real.  We're human, we err, we sin, it pains us to forgive.  It hurts our prideful wounded egos.  Poor us.

This just in, it's not our job to handle the sins committed against us.  That's what the Big G is for.  He is our God of justice.  He gives us a double recompense for our former trouble, He causes our enemies to flee before us, He promises that no word formed against us shall prosper but shall be shown in the wrong.  Take that you narcissistic, insecure, conniving bitches!  Oh, forgive me, Father.  I'm to love my enemies, bless those who curse me, do good to those who hate me and pray for those who spitefuly use and persecute me.  No problem.  Let me just open up my can of selfless whoop ass and I'll be right with you.

Hmm.  Actually, that's no small order, Big G.  I think I'm gonna need some back up.  Aw, your Holy Spirit?  Thank GOD.  Literally.  Lord knows I can't handle those bitches myself.  Yeah, I know, you know that.  And yes, I know you know they're bitches, but that doesn't mean I should call them that.  Thank you for calling me your beloved instead of your insecure, spiteful, whining baby.  I'll take the power of life over death in the tongue for 500, Lord.

So how do I do this.  How do I muster up the strength to continue praying for the one I now dread ever crossing paths with again.  Do you have any idea what that feels like?  Think of the person who hurt you the most in your life.  Think of that time when you felt like your world was falling around you and the one person who offered their hand to help you, the one person you trusted to protect you, cowardly pushed you aside just as you managed to get out before the building collapsed on top of you.  Now, the one you believed you could trust is in fact the one you need protection from.  How do you pray for such a villain?  Adding insult to injury, just to REALLY test the color of your heart you discover unknown deception, slander, lies and discrepancies shattering any semblance of trust or hope concerning an individual you once mistakenly believed delighted in you.

Come on, man! Can't I just get lost in a sea of new lovers?  Do I have to pray for this self indulgent, childish, inconsistent son of a.....

Sorry.  Habit.  I know, I know.

Sigh.

Do I have to pray for this... child of God?

YES. 

Grumble, grumble. 

I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength.  I can be a bad ass Stephen, uttering my last breaths for those throwing the stones that slay me, Lord, do not charge them with this sin. I am more than a conqueror with You. 

Thank you for believing in me.  Thank you for seeing what so many will never know.  If you can change my heart, you can make any mountain fall.  You already have.  And I'm trying not to forget that it all started when I believed it would.

Selah.

Resolved in their irresoluteness

I came home this evening and visited with my Grandmother.  We talked about our days and I made myself something to eat and then plopped down on the couch opposite her.  "Look at you being able to eat whenever you want to," she said.  "I thought of making some coleslaw and then thought, no, I can't do that it's only 4 o'clock!" Upon realization of such a ludicrous statement we both laughed and shook our heads.  I said, "Grandma, you make your coleslaw and you have some wine with it too!" She got up right then and said "that sounds good" and set out to make her favorite snack.

My sassy, eighty-six year old Grandmother is not the only one set in her stubborn rules.  I don't think there's anyone who can honestly say their days aren't defined by the Should's in their life.  Everything from the pastry we shouldn't have at Starbucks to the topics we shouldn't discuss with our friends to the way we shouldn't run until after we feed the dog.  Why, oh why oh why, do we force all these rules on ourselves? Rules that serve entirely no purpose except to serve as rules.

I must eat dinner after 530. Why? Because I must.

I must tolerate the way I'm being treated. Why? Because that's what I do.

Half the time we don't even know why we do what we do, we just do it because we do.  I wanted to put a flyer on the fridge for my play a couple months ago and Grandma said I couldn't put anything on the fridge.  Then she stopped and had to think if she did that because it was her rule or because it was something Grandpa had never wanted.  We both laughed over the fact that such a rule had become so ingrained she couldn't even remember who set the rule in the first place.

I confronted someone once on her long time friendship of condescension with a girl who seemed to often verbally mistreat her. "Well, we're like sisters," she rationalized.  "That's just how she's always been." But when I pointed out that this friend doesn't mistreat any of her other friends in such a way it seemed almost impossible for her to fathom that she'd ever treat her differently. "What if the next time she talked to you like that you told her 'enough, don't talk to me that way'" I suggested. Radical notion. We accept what others offer us because we think that must be what we deserve. If someone treats us a certain way, we must have provoked such behavior out of them.

That work flirtation that got out of line? Clearly your fault for being so friendly in the first place. Never mind their perversion in distorting the facts, they never would have offered you an indecent proposal if you hadn't batted your eyes in their direction. And your verbally abusive lover? Oh, they would never talk to you like that if you'd just mind what they say, doing all they ask and anticipating all they might ask.  You foolish thing, you.  Clearly people aren't responsible for their own actions.  You get what's coming to you.  That's all their is to it.

Oh, hold the phone.

You see, dear heart, you are not in fact responsible for the neurosis of others so STOP HEARING IT. People who don't treat you lovingly don't love you. Love does not manifest itself in tears and slander and deceiving manipulation. Time well spent is time with those who delight in you. Everyone else can just be your facebook friend. And you can oh so easily ignore their pestering I.M.'s.

Brought to You in Part by the Sisters of Contempt and Apathy

"I now understand that love is a rare and valuable thing, and you don't get to choose its object.  You must go around getting hung up on all the least convenient things--and if the only obstacle in your way is a little extra work, then that's the wonderful gift right there."- Elif Batuman

A wise woman once told me, "a man should swim through shark infested waters to bring you a glass of lemonade." Somewhere along the way, the years passed by and women stopped believing this. They either didn't think they deserved such devotion or they thought the men were incapable and moved too slowly. So, over time women started buying the lemons and the sugar to keep on hand just in case the men were too tired to make the journey. They even purchased boats and offered to meet the men where they were thinking it might be easier altogether if they just made the lemonade themselves. After all, things worth doing are worth doing right, so it really makes more sense to ease men into things.  It works so well in the animal kingdom too.  Try helping a bird hatch from its egg or catch it from falling and you're sure to end up with a weak, defenseless bird lacking the strength to fight for what it needs to.  And why should it?  It never felt what it was like to hit its head against the ground.

Women, instinctively, are nurturers.  There is nothing wrong with wanting to help others, especially when we seem to possess a divine gift of intuition making it feel a sin to not communicate the most effective route to attaining any goal.  However, we seem to miss the mark with our men because their thrill lies in the journey and self discovery, not in heeding our wise direction.
I know very few women who truly believe a man would cross the ocean for her. Why do women drop their lives and change their careers when their boyfriends move?  If she believes she was worth the effort, wouldn't she allow him to return to her?  They believe they're being supportive in following them, going where they're needed, where they're sure not to be missed, making his task easier. In truth, women fear being forgotten.  Their motives, seemingly selfless are in fact self preservation.  Out of sight out of mind is an adage detailing a woman's worst nightmare.  Heaven forbid he should move on to bigger and better things and leave her behind.  Heaven forbid she should move on without him.
Why do women always call and plan their own dates now? Is it because they're self sufficient modern women of the world disregarding their mother's old rules and making things happen? Or is it in fact that they think a man won't be interested enough to make a real effort and call?  And isn't that insecurity issue worth evaluating?
  And then there are those men who never seem to pick up the phone to call, offering instead a text or an I.M.  Women are so quick to brush aside such indifference with rationale and justification when in reality, those he values in his life, he will call.  He doesn't text his mother on her birthday, he calls her.  He makes time for his best friend, he doesn't blow him off at the last minute with a half hearted text.  We certainly don't treat those we loves with such minimal effort, why do we expect so little for ourselves?
  Instant messages and texts are casual ways to engage contact with someone while maintaining distance. It takes no real involvement, it takes no real effort. He could text while on a date with someone else or I.M. while on the phone with the person he cares enough to talk to.

Somewhere along the way, we tried to forget the harshness of this truth.

I, for one, would like to give the ones worth talking to a chance to shine through. I'm not keeping any more lemons on hand and I'm not replying to the half hearted texts and I'm not following anyone anywhere. The fairy tales never ended with Rapunzel chasing after her prince asking what he meant by his last text. Men are capable of being men.  They are capable of coming through for us, they are perfectly capable of everything we're too afraid to wait and see if they'll decide to do. If we just get out of the way and let them make the effort, they will.  Or they very likely won't, but isn't it better to know than waste time with someone who doesn't even see us?  If  we're not wasting our time, then the ones worth knowing will find a way to spend time with us. Quantity is not as thrilling as quality. And sometimes pink lemonade tastes much sweeter when you sip it alone.

Truth goes down easier than lead

I have wanted to get married for as long as I can remember.  I held to the title of hopeless romantic like it was an endearing petname measured with the affection of my darling or dear heart.  I bought myself items for my imaginary hope chest being that no large wooden box existed in my belongs.  I even bought myself a hope ring as a reminder that someday some man would buy me a ring just as beautiful and think of me as his very own emerald.

Tonight while I was talking with my grandma I realized the thought of getting married makes me want to vomit. 

I'm not being figurative here, Grandma literally made the statement, "It's gonna take a special man to marry you because you're not a typical person" and I physically shuttered.

My body can't even handle the thought of such a thing.
Maybe my bride gene was destroyed by all the hair coloring I've done in such a short time. Three colors in one year is a lot of pressure to put on the hair folicle.

Then again maybe I've finally stepped through the looking glass.


So often what motivates our behavior is fear.

Grandma shared with me a story about a man she grew up with who at age sixty was diagnosed with cancer.  Upon receiving the news, she said he went home, took a shower and shot himself in the head.  Just like that; news, action. We hear stories like that and we think how sad, how awful but how many of us shoot ourselves in our own way daily with our fear and lack of faith? That man was prompted to action but the wrong action. We see things in such jaded light; if it can't be X then there is no other possible letter because Lord help us if something occurrs we hadn't thought of.

What if I step into the unknown will I be forgotten? Isn't it better to stay on the assembly line, smling and nodding and not causing any trouble?
What if, since we're all so fond of what if's, that man's illness had strengthened his faith, drew him nearer to God and his loved ones and was used to minister to hearts about the divine love and mercy that is our God? Isn't that the whole purpose of our trials, to draw strength from Above, to overcome, to push ahead to win the supreme prize awaiting us?  Isn't that why every miracle occurred in the New Testament, to show the changing power of the Almighty God?  Could the miracles have happened if everything was coming up roses?
 If then we choose to run away before the hand has been dealt to us aren't we in essence cheating our fate? Is failure really worse than never knowing?

Perhaps I'm a foolish risk taker. I have a remarkable confrontational honesty that makes other wise sane people most uncomfortable. They simply don't want to step off the assembly line. People just don't DO that. They lie out of timidity. They placate out of misplaced neccesity. They ommit to save face and belittle to try and darken joy. NO ONE SPEAKS IN LOVE HONESTLY.

Wouldn't it be nice if you were that one.

What if you surrounded yourself with the people who encourage and uplift you instead of the masses.  What if you let go of every toxic relationship that is hindering the plan God has in store for you. Just set your fear aside and look instead at all that is inside, just past the tinted glass. You're shooting yourself in the head every day by pretending to be a robot when you know there is something far greater waiting for you. Just let the rain come and drink it in. At least this pain is real. And genuineness is worth far more than illusion any day.
I'll take freedom for 1000 please.

Out with the old.

I threw out a bunch of old journals earlier this year,which, at the time was liberating.  Confession: most of what I wrote was about men so it was a beautiful sort of poetic justice that all those lovers of years past ended up in the garbage can with coffee grounds and yesterday's want ads.


But sorting through bags of stuff I used to find valuable I came across a few more recent journals I'd overlooked. I have to say, skimming through them was most entertaining. It seems that what I dealt with two years ago parallels all too familiarly with what is occurring now.  Another narcissistic melancholic who can't seem to handle the loving confrontational assertiveness that is me? NO!

I am a Romeo. A fickle, falls in love with everyone, can't see the warning signs till I've drunk the poison Romeo. Somehow when I'm in the middle of such perfect "love" I always seem to forget this fact. Much like Violet Bick I like every boy and what IS wrong with that? Nothing except I'm incapable of perspective when I'm in the land ofThe Likes. The Loves, now that's another island altogether. Once you've leapt there the only way off is a LONG swim in which many inevitably drown. Thus our desperation to cling to the island of love even if what we're clinging to seems to be tiring of our presence. They just don't know what's best for them and clearly I do. I am such an excellent judge of character after all. What, you don't have a job and you don't know who you are and you have Mommy issues and intimacy issues and you don't wear deoderant? You are my dream come true Prince Charming!! Come, let's run and frolic and sing songs and....


Oh. You left already. Hmm. Perhaps I made a slight error once again.


Aw well, you know me and I'm bound to be in love once again in precisely...oh, seventy-two days, give or take 1000. Things slow down as I grow older and I may actually be learning from all the psychos I've entangled myself with. Oh I'm sorry, did I say psychos? I meant emotionally challenged intellectually stinted juveniles. Is that a more PC way to put it?


Further still I'm realizing the joyous freedom of remaining a singleton and not spending the majority of my time trying to decipher the meaning behind some guys' text or worrying over what topics to discuss on my less than stimulating date. Think I'll stick to what moves me, inspires, challenges, strengthens and induces growth. And frankly, darling, that doesn't include the lot of you.

Mix that with your stevia and choke on it.

"I didn't like the flavor of his communication"

I took myself to brunch at what has become my new favorite spot.  They have the most incredible lemon ricotta pancake with blueberry compote for only $2.50 that basically makes you feel like you've died and gone to breakfast heaven.  Not to mention the delicious bottomless coffee that you can even help yourself to while you wait outside because everyone in southeast knows this cafe is worth the wait.
Doing things solo gives you a keen ear to discern things you'd otherwise be too distracted to pick up on.  When you're engaged in your own conversation, for instance, it is highly unlikely you will hear the remarks of the person sitting behind you.  And sometimes the person sitting behind you makes remarks that are worth hearing.

I sat on a chair in the sunshine with my coffee in one hand and current read in the other and started hearing the conversation of the cute English pair sitting on my left.  The gentleman was telling the story of his ex girlfriend who apparently got engaged a week after they broke up, a fact I failed to fathom that was then juxtoposed with the sight of two men flopping around doing a swatting dance in defense of a single bee.  I thought I disliked bees but this was actual live farce happening before my eyes.  The one gentleman worked himself into such a tizzy he asked the waitress to be moved to a table inside.  After they left I saw the bee nestling the jam and the sugar on the table and I swear I could actually hear Rimsky-Korsakov's "Flight" playing in the background and the bee laughing silently at winning back his table.

As the English pair and the two gentlemen moved inside more people were seated behind and in front of me.  Two women at one table, two men at another.  Both, defensively discussing their relationships.  "I just want to date, I don't want anything serious," declared one of the women.  "Or that going out to dinner means you're going to have sex.  I mean, seriously?"  And at the bachelor table there was, "So then she says to me, 'You're just gonna leave and go do whatever you want and move on and be happy?'" And his friend encouragingly stated, "Well you just go do what you're gonna do and she'll go to India and maybe you guys will see each other later on when you're back and.....well, who knows." 
The gentlemen, whose conversation far outweighed the volume of the ladies and thus grabbed my attention continued on with a recollection of a misunderstanding concerning a bartender and the India trekking woman's fake I.D. to which the seemingly disinterested ex subtley remarked, "She's a gorgeous young lady, that's for sure."

There is something about our pheromones that makes an attraction seem to withstand experience and emotional duress regardless of how we desperately try to ignore or destroy it.  Those we hold inexplicable attraction to seem to always remain attractive in our eyes no matter the distance, time or strangers we use to nullify its existense. Perhaps this and this alone in all its simplicity is the reason guys and gals so often can't stay friends.


Eavesdropping on so many separate similar conversations I had a humorous revelation that literally made me laugh quietly aloud with the bee.


My story, while intensely significant to me alone, is not in fact unique or special but merely a mirrored copy of everyone else's same book.

We in our isolated self imposed individuality are missing this obvious truth.
Our heartache, our misfortune doesn't distance us from our fellow man but rather draws us nearer to them. The one who rejected you was in fact rejected by one he too loved. And the one you can't muster any interest in is bemoaning his loss over pancakes to another who also feels without.


Isn't it a deliciously comforting reality?


There is this profound moment in the movie "Anne of Green Gables" where Mirilla is convinced that her new houseguest Anne has stolen her amethyst brooch. Try as she might Anne cannot convince Mirilla that she didn't take it. Finally, as punishment, Mirilla tells Anne she cannot go to the picnic Anne was desperately looking forward to until she admits the truth of what happened with the brooch. So, after a time, Anne approaches Mirilla saying "I'm ready to confess." Anne then tells an elaborate story of wearing the brooch and accidentally letting it slip into the water. Thinking this truth will allow her passage to the picnic she is startled to discover Mirilla still won't let her go. When Mirilla shortly thereafter puts on a sweater and discovers the missing brooch she asks Anne why she lied. "You wouldn't believe the truth" Anne says.


So often people are convinced to a startlingly stubborn degree that they know the truth about someone, their motives, their intentions, their heart. They think they've figured out what you yourself may be unawares and use such presumption to then treat accordingly. Even in your attempts to speak the truth they, like Mirilla, can't believe it is as simple as that. So you, wanting to appease even the foolish, allow them to believe what they will. And only a few, the rare kindred spirits, will take the time to come back and ask why you didn't suade them from all the lies.

You won't believe the truth, you think silently to yourself and wonder if their ears will ever hear what they were so afraid to before.

Colorless Rainbows

I often ask people questions. It's my way of being inquisitive. It's also a way of getting the introverts in my life to open up. Sometimes I ask questions that, surprisingly, when asked reciprocally I have no idea how to answer them.


I once asked someone what it was they needed. To my surprise they answered thoroughly with all promptness, rattling off a list of specifics and I categorically filed them away. Then they in turn asked me what I needed and I was silent for a long while.

Some things are most difficult to put into words. I think I started to open my mouth to speak several times but nothing seemed to come out. It's not that I'm unable to speak my mind, dare I even jest, it's that sometimes my mind doesn't know how to use my mouth to communicate. So eventually, with all simplicity, I said, "honesty and consistency." And while that may not seem like a lot, it is in fact very difficult for people to give. As I'm growing older I feel that my tolerance for mistreatment has waned. I simply don't want to spend time with the selfish, the users, the narcissists or the moody. Pick a personality and stick with that, then we can all act accordingly.

And please don't lie and say you were just having a bad day or didn't mean what you said because frankly darling, that's a pile of bollocks. I have awful things happen to me the same as you and I find a way to remain kind and loving in spite of the demons trying to sabotage my joy.  It is possible to be in pain and still be human.  Stop justifying your hate with the wrongs of others.  Shouldn't someone eventually accept responsibility or are we always to blame the Capulets and the Montagues? And truthfully, you did mean the words you spoke for out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks. That means it was first IN you to come out of you. Ooh, I caught ya, didn't I?

There are some people we forgive and love and let back into our lives time after time no matter how indefinitely they let us down. But patterns don't break unless something forces them to. They break when what was once tolerated is nonexistent.  The game must end when you choose to no longer participate. One of my friends almost annually goes underground and won't see me or contact me for months at a time. She isn't off the map entirely, of course, she merely seems unable to make room in her life for lil' ol me. And always when she finally comes around, in need of something I can offer, I let her back in and we mend the bond that was strained.  And true to form, after enough time, she disappears all over again.

This is what a cycle looks like.

And this, contrastly, is what maturity looks like.

I'm taking my crayons and I'm going home.

I just don't wanna play anymore.

They Are

There once was a woman, a woman not unlike the one you forgot.
Her tragic downfall or secret inner strength was her inability to ever give up on anyone.
This made her vulnerable, a poor game player, though she frequented many gaming circuits. She also stubbornly refused to mute her words; an odd merging of genes on her parents part, a sort of calm enduring love fused with an unpredictable aggressiveness.


This woman, like the one you may be recalling now, was often misconstrued. People that aren't blaringly hateful attract the selfish heel of boots worn by the unknowing. Often they are not asked but expected to accept the behavior handed them. Like the brain who always gets an A, the possibility of a B or C tightens the noose around his neck at the mere notion of such a slip up, and so, too, the forgiving are viewed with such anticipated expectation that any act not entirely selfless is grounds for recrimination.


No wonder the lost choose to remain so cold.


So on this particular day, this said woman found herself mixed with a familiar unknown. New melody, same dance of uncertainty. And she stopped to look up and saw the blue differently.


Some learn gradually, others, jarringly. They become consumed with change, distractions, validity, misconstrued ideology. All in the subtle craft of avoidance. And so, many, wearing their tightened boots are unawares to the shifts falling around them. They are too lost in the business of trying to change to look up and see you already have.


The resaon they fall in love is that they accept the assumption that person sees them in a way others won't. They, where so many ignore, delight. They carry each heart as treasure, tucked safely away in the pocket of their favorite hoodie. But as with all unstable forces, love is merely a mirror reflecting images projected toward it. After an allotted amount of time the indifference suddenly forced upon each gaze creates a layer of dust in the once shimmering object. Imperceptibly, the love given, the love seen in the eyes that looked back, shifted. The clouds gathered again and what once seemed clear returns to gray.



Somewhere, underneath the blue, lies those strong enough to stay even though what's seen frightens and overwhelms. They embrace this inner child to love unconditionally instead of projecting past failures on mistaken faces. They slow down to see what lies in front of their shaking eyes.



And there are others who will gather together and stand, screaming in the rain, their words caught by the wind, sticking to trees, never reaching the now foggy hearts.


A tiny corner of each heart always houses the memories of such shattered glass, but as the years go by the space gives way to overcrowding and something must give.


Always, ever faithful, its you.

You silly robot, you

I had a pretty random gig the other day. And I say random because it all kind of happened last minute, spur of the moment. I thought, I'll forward my audition reel and see what might happen and then received a call within 20 minutes and directions for where to accept the gig, just like that. An impulse, an action and results, quicker than I finished my latte.




Once I quit a job on a Thursday, started looking for new jobs Friday, had my first interview Monday and got the job that same day. It's always surprising when significant events happen so quickly but then again, women continue to preach the adage that when you're not looking for a man is when you'll find one. Maybe there's something about men and employers and directors smelling our desperation--then again, maybe Fate just likes to deal us a sudden hand every once in awhile just to keep us on our toes.



I think the thing I loved so much about booking this gig was that I had previously seen the audition information a couple weeks prior and for whatever reason, kept forgetting to email the director. I took this as a sign it wasn't meant to be but then yesterday there was another audition notice and realizing this was my chance, I responded and heard back right away. As a performer you always hope when you go in for an audition the director will love you and you will be exactly what they're looking for. (Directors feel this way too but they conceal their hopefulness with poker faces and matters of business). And so often, you not only have no idea if they liked you, let alone loved you, but you have to wait weeks, sometimes months, to find out if you got the part or even a callback. Delayed gratification is a curse of the actor but something we never seem to learn the patience to master. So you can imagine the sheer joy I felt as I not only speedily learned I landed the gig but received accolades from a stranger on the work I had sent him. Every singer notices the flaws in each note they sing, a wavering of pitch, a faulty rhythm and this is all magnified when you have no accompaniment. But this director told me that of the tracks I sent him, the acapella track he heard was his favorite. "In the first few notes you sold yourself, already showcasing what you could do," he said. Why was this such a treat for me to hear? Because it was something I'd recorded in one take, sitting on my couch, wanting to try out my webcam and here the music maestro was telling me, Brava, well done. My amateur musical prowess got me a job!



There were several of us at the gig who were all thrilled to be making a recording and that kind of passionate energy is so contagious to be around. One young gal next to me, after we first began sightreading the score, whispered to me, "You have a really pretty voice." And while it tickled me to be seen by this barely 20 something ingenue with starstruck eyes I thought to myself, Thank you, I do have a pretty voice, don't I? And that's not the diva in me talking (Oh who am I kidding, I'm FABULOUS!) But seriously, sometimes the compliments from strangers fill a tiny place in my heart that loved ones can't reach. There is this admiration that stems not from affection but from genuine inspiration. And it's nice to be able to use the gifts we have, isn't it? So often we feel what we do defines us. And so much of what we do is to pay our bills. It says nothing of who we are, what makes us tick, what makes us excited and exhilirated and keeps us up sleepless nights with thrilling anticipation. I've learned to find joy in what I do because it's where I spend so many hours of so many days of my life, so why not love it while I'm there? But being a Starbucks Barista is not who I am. God didn't create me to serve people coffee. There's so much more to me than that! But somehow, having such a simple job, loving the robots who look into my glittery smile every morning, I find a small thrill in what I do. And it makes what I then choose to do all that more special because I don't sing and act because I have to, I perform because I GET to. And what a wonder to love the audience as I love my regulars, only this time, I get to use the gifts I have to bless them, rather than merely my hats and my rhinestones.



An actor said to me once during a performance onstage, "I am so bored." And I really wanted to ask him, Then why are you here? No one's forcing you to be an actor. No one made you audition for this play. So aren't you then here because you want to be and if not, why are you doing something you don't want? There are things we do to eat and live and to then have the freedom and time to do the things we want. But why use your spare time to do anything but the things you're passionate about? Isn't that a waste? It makes me tired just thinking about it.



Maybe the trick is remembering all the things you wanted to be before you turned into one of the robots yourself. Maybe it just takes a step out of the safe assembly line routine and into another box for a moment. Perhaps then the week will be shaken up with a last minute, spur of the moment surprise happening. You might remember one of those gifts you forgot you possessed and remember the thrill of getting to do something, rather than doing what you do simply because you do. Wouldn't that give all the other robots something to talk about....

Cherry lips and Diamond pins

When I was a little girl I remember my Mom asking me if I wanted to wear makeup. When most Moms were barely accepting of their daughters Bonne Belle Lipsmackers, mine was encouraging me to put on more blush.


I didn't learn until after living with my Mom's Mom that this trait runs in our family. I discovered a picture of Grandma pinning back my Mom's hair when she was just a baby so she would wake up with bouncy curls. "I wanted all my children to look the best they could," Grandma told me. And it made me smile. Third in the generation line and in spite of my peers, I subscribe to the same ideal. As Mother and I both so often quote Princess Diana, "One should always leave the house expecting to have their picture taken."

It may sound ridiculous to you, prideful even. But think about it, how many times have you run out of your house, no makeup, donning sweats you grabbed from the floor, sunglasses hiding your face before you've had your coffee and then you run into someone and think, 'OMG! I don't want them seeing me like this!!' My favorite case of this was years ago when I left the UPTA auditions in Tennessee feeling all defeated and rejected (though I was soon to find out I'd actually receive TWO different job offers) and all I wanted to do was throw on some baggy, homely clothes and just hide on the plane ride home. But I thought of Princess Diana and was determined to not dress how I felt (miserable) but dress instead how I wanted to be seen (fabulous!) And wouldn't you know, I met the most attractive man on the airplane who actually came up to me on the plane and said, "Hey sexy." ***message me for THAT story ;) *** I couldn't believe that beautiful man was talking to me, number one, but also that he was so uncandidly flattering? And what if I would have dressed how I FELT!?? Lord have mercy!!

As seemingly unimportant as it seems, the way we present ourselves to the world reflects a great deal in how we view ourselves. You might argue, 'Well, I just don't care.' Well, I think you're a liar. How many times have you been around a woman dressed up, put together, looking like she stepped out of a fashion magazine and you in your 5 minutes of running quickly out the door laziness thought or muttered a snide comment under your breath that stemmed merely from jealousy? "What is she so dressed up for?" "Oh, she looks way over done." "She must not be from around here." But if you 'don't care'--then why do you CARE what she's wearing? I had one customer ask me a few weeks ago, "Are you from Portland? People don't dress up around here. You should live in the big city." I couldn't stop laughing.

I love to dress up. L-O-V-E love! I know it's partly because I'm still six and three quarters, playing dress up and waiting for my Prince Charming to walk in through those Starbucks doors and order his Americano and then confess his undying love for me. But people always have something to say about it. My co-workers continually mock me, "What do you get so dressed up for?" And one customer even sneered, "You look like you're going OUT somewhere or something. *Scoff*!" It took everything in me not to respond with some remark such as just because I was her coffee bitch didn't mean I couldn't look ravishing in my smock, you hateful cow! But I am a lady at all times, thank you.

My Mother had to endure jeers and hateful comments from family memebers and co-workers for years and all because she was wearing a skirt and heels. What kills me is that most women FEEL more desirable and beautiful when they take the time to look polished and feminine but they're convinced that nowadays that's the 'wrong' thing to do. Even wearing anything more than the Contemporary Christian jean ensemble to church can be cause for head turning. And all because we're enlightened feminists? Oh good grief. If it's about our freedom of choice, then why are your panties in a twist when I choose red lipstick over chapstick? Could it be that you secretly wish you could still play dress up too?

The thing I discovered that I find most surprising by the jewels and the carefully drawn eyeliner I don every morning in Coffee Land is the people that are blessed by it. One gentleman, probably in his 60's, told me last week, "I love your jewelry and all your hats. I find it refreshing to see." And I've had ladies tell me they like to come in and see what jewelry I'm wearing. "You're so sparkly! It brightens my day! I'm gonna come in every morning to see you!" I've even been blessed enough to have three different customers give me vintage gifts: a brooch, a pair of rhinestone earrings and a 50's hat! What an unexpected blessing they each were and to think, all because I took the little extra time in the morning to wear the things I love, how I love them and put my face on.

So ok, for my few genuine tom boy friends, you may be exempt from all of this. But most of you are so afraid of looking like you actually made an effort, like you actually care, that you'd rather just blend into the background and pass judgement on the ladies who still love their pearls and mascara. But this is YOUR movie and don't you want to be the leading lady in it?

I LOVE that such a small effort on my part has such a huge effect on the people around me (be it hate or love, at least it's a reaction). My favorite moment was when a woman came in to my store, all scrubby and commented on how put together I looked, then went home, came back and was all dolled up. "You inspired me, " she said. And that, my pretty wallflowers, is what diamond pins and cherry lips are all about.

10 years and still in the cafeteria?

Time is relative.




I know the old regulars at my Starbucks would beg to differ with me but having my ten year high school reunion made me feel so incredibly old! I mean, another year and a half and I'll be thirty and I'm still waiting to feel like a grown up! But I suppose that's true for the majority of us. And I think our morbid curiosity of what may or may not happen is the reason most of us showed up at that bar on Friday night.



There were people I didn't expect to see, people I'd hoped would be there that weren't, people that I'd had classes with since kindergarten. I got to see my high school sweetheart, the cute jocks who are now handsome men, the guy who gave me my first awful kiss, the shy girls, the nervous girls, the cool girls, the facebook stalker, the girl who won't be my facebook friend (though I swear we were friends in high school!)



One guy said, "There are people here I wanted to see and then there are people here I wish hadn't shown up!" I had to laugh! Raw honesty is so rare these days.



There were people I had genuinely nice conversations with that I may have never talked to in high school. There were people who were so overwhelmed at seeing so many strangers who used to haunt their lives all in the same room once again. Some people came and left and I found out after the fact they'd been there at all. There were those I never talk to on facebook who'd been following what I'd been up to and as ridiculous as this sounds, I felt flattered. We don't even talk on Fb yet they take the time to cyber stalk me and have opinions concerning my life? Aw, that is so sweet! Who knew I was significant enough to be a topic of conversation. We're influencing one another when we don't even see them or talk to them or remember them, for that matter. It's a pretty sobering thought, realizing your mere existence has such a profound effect. (And here you thought you were just another snowflake. Shame on you).



But more than anything, we all just seemed surprised to keep seeing each other. Every time I turned around I saw another familiar face of a stranger and it was more fun than I thought it'd be.



And somehow the realization that while ten years had passed (what a long time that seemed to be!) not so very much had changed. And somehow I took comfort in that. A friend of mine the other day was waiting to hear from someone and whined it had been three weeks!!! Isn't it funny how quickly time can pass when we're not paying attention? It's nearly August already and I can't hardly believe it.



Time is relative. Slow when we will it to hasten, quick when we're looking away. And still, days pass by, and little seems to change. The whispers from the cafeteria tables still speak your name and you can smile as you walk past, knowing that while so much remains in tact, you in fact, are so much more than you once were. And praise be for that!

Muffled cries

The rippling waves reflect

the glow of today's uncertainties
And though, surrounded,
these sighs remain inaudible
One lasting effort to say so much
but to ears that listen not,
whilst the lower lip quivers.
Though joy might permeate
such solitude frightens
Here we two and three
shared such tranquility thus
The ducks knew our name
And lingered as we sat.

You wanna know a secret?

You wanna know a secret?




There's a reason certain cliches exist.

They're TRUE.



You know that expression, 'kill them with kindness?' It takes a little pride swallowing on your part but it's well known because it works. Proverbs 15 says 'a soft answer turns away wrath but harsh words stir up anger.' And I think when you're loving towards someone who hates on you, it not only makes the vile vibe between people cease, it CONFUSES them!! Can you think of anything more comical? I think a dumbfounded angry person is one of my new favorite things to witness.



Oh sure, there are moments when people are treating us unjustly and all you want to do is give them a piece of your mind (believe you me, I've done that plenty of times and I'm not gonna lie, it feels good). But that good feeling doesn't last and often times it doesn't change anything. People aren't gonna change. They're stubborn sons o' bitches! But you can change YOU. And let me tell you, it feels really good watching people around me trying to steal my joy and I just look back at them and smile.



Because I know a secret. And you wanna know my secret?



I started praying for them.



Yup, those no good, rude, selfish buttheads that aren't getting out of my life anytime soon and I got sick and tired of feeling like the times I had to be around them were an ongoing battle for my joy so I forced myself to start praying for them. Truth be told, I really didn't want to. It hurts your pride to utter a sentence that starts with "Please bless..." and ends with someone who has gone out of their way to be unpleasant towards you.



But let me tell you, it has only been a handful of days yet and there is already a change taking place in my interactions with them.



And you want to know why? Because I fixed my spirit and my mind towards them and now it doesn't matter what they do because I don't take the bait! I don't let them get me down! And I don't even have to try the way I used to for that to be the case. And now they have nothing left to do but be pleasant because they're wearing themselves out. And I really wanted to say something like, HA! You're singin' a new tune and it's cuz I've been praying for you! but I just kind of smiled to myself as I realized, things are different and all I did was start praying for this unlovable.



And imagine if we all started praying for those rotten people we love to avoid. Maybe it'd make you smile too. Secrets will do that.

A Severe Mercy

I pulled up to the house and prayed continually His will be done. I walked up to the front door and as I knocked my heart began to beat louder than the warble of the birds behind me. You know that contrived expression time stood still? Well, in that moment, it did. And as the door opened I saw him standing there and the expression on his face, beyond description. I'm an intuitive person, I could always read this person in an oddly keen way and there they stood with a look I was unable to decipher. Was it hatred, anger, sadness, surprise? I didn't know. And in that silence we just looked at each other and I kept waiting to see what would happen. What would he say? Would he accept the boundary I'd set in love with acceptance or disdain? I looked in his eyes searching for the truth. No word was uttered, I don't think he even blinked. The silence was strangling so I finally spoke, almost from a Will not my own.






I'm not very good at knowing when to say when. Perhaps it's the passionate side of me or my inability to believe the bad in people or the fact that I won't give up because I see things from so many angles that when one way doesn't work, I'm SURE a new tactic will.

Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results. So what is loving over and over again expecting different results? Insanity? Aw, I thought this jacket made it difficult for my arms to move.



Have you ever made a mistake? Have you ever been wrong about something? Let me rephrase that, have you ever been wrong about someone? (Cut to obvious reaffirmation). I have lost my temper before. I have said things I didn't mean or done things I wished I could take back and that is such a sinking feeling. The shame and the disappointment in both self and the circumstances that prompted you to be that person you thought you weren't.

But what about those times, those rare moments when you're someone you didn't even know you could be? Where the loving forgiveness in your speech and the calm acceptance of your actions shocks even you as you deliver them?

I'd never experienced that before. It must be like making it to the top of a climb you've been working at for years or finally mastering some concerto or solving some great problem. There is this proud feeling that wells in your gut as you whisper internally, "I did it. WE did it. His word was Right and He did give me strength. God is so good." And while it makes you smile, your eyes continue to well with surprise.



It was only one (and counting) but I'd learned to love the unlovable. To embrace and accept and encourage every selfish, unstable step and let go of my hurt feelings, my dashed hopes, my need for consistency, my need for their love. And what a triumph! What a wonder to see God's changing power! This in a girl who months prior wouldn't accept anything other than her own wishes had now learned to give thanks through tears for getting nothing that she wanted and all of what He wanted her to endure and grow in.



You see this unlovable, this dissatisfied, lost soul never knew what they wanted, still doesn't, perhaps never will. But with each indecisive wish, I nodded my head a sound Ok.

You don't want to see me? Alright.

Now you do want to see me? Sure.

You want me to go with you? It would be my pleasure.

Now you decided you don't want to go at all? Well, I have to accept that.

Now you hear I'm going without you and you want to go and meet there? Um, ok, I guess, if you say so.

Now you see me there and act icily indifferent upon seeing me? Ouch, but I'll believe the best. Here, read this encouraging scripture, I hope you have a fun rest of your trip.

Now you want to see me again but things are REALLY different this time? Really, you're convinced. It's not like the 7 times before. Well, ok, my friend, your wish is my command.

Now you want to make all these plans for all these trips, these adventures and I'm starting to feel the cinches on my jacket grow tighter and tighter. Maybe this urging in my spirit to break away is right, I fear. Maybe it's best for me, for both of us, if we end this cycle. Maybe a substantial fast from one another will bring us to the place where a friendship can ensue. Maybe in time you'll learn to get out of your mind and into the Truth. How wonderful that would be! Then we could share in joy how peace had replaced your confusion. Maybe it's time I communicate this to you. Ok, here goes.



And so here I am, standing at the door. Looking in the eyes of a stranger. A stranger who tells me we shouldn't just take some time apart but that we can never talk again, never be in each other's lives. And I don't know why it takes me so many hours later to see that this proclamation was taking the boundary I'd set and altering it to a more extreme version, thereby making it HIS idea. Aw, clever, my double minded man! You almost had me fooled! Oh, and look at that! Deleted from your facebook already, too? ('Tis the official mark of a friendship, afterall). Well, you sure showed me. Hear, hear! What a mighty man of God, just as you set out to be. Let me summarize the rest of your meaning, on behalf of our audience.



"(Ahem): I'm sorry, but your behavior is too consistently loving for me. And so I need to be alone. Each time I am unkind, each time I say one thing and do another, each time I say hurtful things to try and turn you against me, you voice a soft answer and my wrath is left confused. I'm sorry but when you give me what I say I want, it's not what I need and that's your fault for not hearing what I never spoke. And I'm sorry, but your recent letter was everything I needed to hear and was much too nice. It is just impossible, so obviously you're a fake and a liar. And I can't have people who treat me with love in my life. I know I said a few nights ago that you've been such an encouragement to me and that God has used you to bless me but I can't hear God right now. I'm too busy with my own thoughts. You, of all people, should understand that. It's not about everyone else, it's not even about God, it's about me. Can't you see that's why I wouldn't pray with you? If I prayed, I'd have to repent and I'm not ready to die to self yet. That's too painful and I'm not strong enough to leave Never Never Land yet. That's why I'm running away again, like I told you I always do. That way no one will find me in the mountains. I'm sorry, I thought I made that clear."



So now, here we are. And in spite of what the world and my flesh deems deserved, I will continue to pray for the dear one who let the strongholds of his mind poison the love in his heart. And praise be that if we do what we can do, God will do what we can't do. My mourning has, to my surprise, quickly ceased and I rejoice in the greater plan God's already put in motion for me. And one day, the pain of this severe mercy will give way to tears of joy when the rainbow that's patiently waiting breaks through these stormy clouds.



Thank you for urging my will to give way to Yours. I'm so glad I was quiet long enough to hear the Whisper inside of me.

Snapshots

I have a lot of stuff. I mean, there is the term pack rat, but I think I might need to redefine terms because I am a hoarder, I mean, I hold onto things and I don't even know I HAVE them. Once when I was looking for a pair of shoes I stumbled across a pair of Nikes and didn't think they were mine--that's how long it had been since I saw them. I didn't even remember OWNING them!! I have to admit that was a pretty hillarious moment to me. And sadly no one was around to witness it. "Whose shoes are these? They aren't mine. Oh....wait.....HAHAHAHA!" *Sigh*




I moved recently and it was a pretty quick move so rather than sort through and organize my barrels of stuff, everything was just thrown in garbage bags to be dealt with at a later date. (Gotta love Mother, the way I learned to clean was to throw things in bags to deal with at a later time. Hey, it made the room look clean and then I had a bag full of treasures to discover later!) So today, I opened up a bag of.....well, STUFF and found all these old pictures and can I just say that I love, love, love pictures. There really is something about how a tiny scrap of paper can take you back to another time, where you were another person, feeling entirely different things. I found a love letter in that box from 10 years ago!! Was I consciously holding onto it? Absolutely not, but the fact remains it lay among the things I was holding onto. That kind of blew me away. There were pictures of me from high school prom and pictures from the college choir field trip and so many pictures of people I hardly remember let alone still talk to. There was something really comforting in all of that.



In those moments, in those times where everything that was happening right then, with all the people that painted the background with their smiles seemed like the most important, the only possible reality I could know or want were all vague memories of a girl I remember once being. And it sort of flooded me like the scattered photos on my bed that like those photos before me, the ones of today will be blurred memories in the years to come. And how humbling to realize the significant moments I encounter at present may find their way to a shoebox at the bottom of a garbage bag when enough time has passed.



Wow. What seems to be today may not be all there is in store. So many photos lie in store for us.



I found myself slightly torn over whether to keep the loot. But I realized I would feel much more liberated if I released all those past things that no longer play a role or even a memory in who I am now. My move opened my eyes to the fact that many of my things are not treasures but a burden. I don't know how it happened but rather than holding on to the things, the stuff had suddenly held me captive and it made me realize how much more I like the freedom in the stars than the twinkle in my closet. Oh, there are lots of things I love and will hold onto. My vintage hats, my designer dresses, my grandmother's jewelry. But so much of what I have are things I'm not even sure why I have, why I'm keeping, why I continue to cart it with me, year after year, thinking there will come a day when I'll be glad I lugged it with me all those years.



Or.....



I can release it. Do you know how freeing it is to let go of something, even something you think you desperately want? Freeing yourself from the bonds of something you genuinely don't need is unbelievably empowering. I can bless someone else with it. I can forgive myself for wasting money on it. I can love the person who gave it to me and not need to keep it. And maybe my journey will feel a little lighter as I take with me only the things I love and not the things I've forgotten about.



What would it feel like if the things we chose to surround ourselves with, the people we invested our time in were only things that brought us great joy?



Can you imagine what a changed life we would have?



I've been finding that my happiest times as of late are times I am spending alone. Somehow this social butterfly has become a bit of an introvert. And somewhere buried under all the stuff are fragments of a girl who would never let herself see the simplicity that lay behind all the things around her.



*Click*